


2: Cuddling

by GraciousK



Series: 30-day OTP Challenge: Johnlock [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Cuddling & Snuggling, Developing Relationship, Dysfunctional Relationships, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Hypothermia, John saves Sherlock... again, M/M, Minor Angst, No Sex, Platonic Romance, Sherlock has feelings!
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-01-29
Updated: 2013-01-29
Packaged: 2017-11-27 09:25:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,107
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/660362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GraciousK/pseuds/GraciousK
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>When John finally finds Sherlock, he's hypothermic and delirious.  John warms him up the only way Sherlock will allow: body heat.  It ends up more angsty than sexy.</p>
            </blockquote>





	2: Cuddling

**Author's Note:**

> Writing for Day 2 in the [30 Day OTP Challenge](http://ericandy.tumblr.com/post/26596382488/ericandys-30-day-otp-challenge): "Cuddling".

John cursed under his breath, a long string of repeated obscenities, always circling back around to "You better be alive, Sherlock. You better, you arrogant bloody..." and then back to the swearing. He knew Sherlock had come to this stretch of coast, he'd left his damn search results up on John's laptop. Sherlock wasn't texting back or picking up his phone, which was a bad sign. A very bad sign. John punched the call button again and held his mobile up to his ear. Ringing. Ringing. "Sherlock, what have you gotten yourself into? You better not be dead, you right awful..."

Then John saw the faint light of a mobile, fifty meters or so down the coast. He started running, the light from his torch jagging along the ground. He caught up to the phone lying by itself, but a few feet away was Sherlock's scarf, and then a shoe, and then-

"Sherlock!" The detective was seated in an awkward splayed position, struggling with his shirt. One white shoulder was exposed. Sherlock's clothes were wet, his skin was ghostly pale, and his movements were jerky. John found himself at Sherlock's side, relief rushing through him. "Sherlock, what are you-?"

Sherlock snarled like an animal and thrashed an arm at John, scooting backwards defensively.

"Oy!" John flinched and dropped his torch, but didn't back away. "It's me, Sherlock," John said, keeping his voice steady.

The angry mask of Sherlock's face melted. "John?"

"Sherlock, what the bloody hell are you doing out here?"

"John, it's you. Why are you so far away?" Sherlock moved as if to stand up, but instead he fell face-first in John's general direction.

Acting out of instinct, John caught Sherlock as he fell. Sherlock's exposed shoulder was cold against his palm, and frigid droplets from Sherlock's hair splattered John's exposed skin. "Sherlock, you're _freezing_."

"There's no time, I need to find John," Sherlock said insistently, his eyes flashing wide. His weight shifted, and he almost fell again.

"Hey!" John snapped, gripping his flatmate tighter. "I'm here, Sherlock." John hauled Sherlock upright, almost stumbling as the taller man slumped into him. "Hey there. I've got you."

"John, it's you," Sherlock repeated, and this was very much not like him. He was leaning heavily against John, his chilly hands working their way underneath John's overcoat.

"It's me, Sherlock." John steadied Sherlock with one hand and used the other to pull Sherlock's shirt back onto his shoulder. "For Christ's sake, why are you taking off your clothes?"

"Why do you have fur? People don't have fur." Sherlock sounded genuinely perplexed.

"That's my jumper, Sherlock. Have you been drugged?"

Sherlock gripped at the thick tan fabric, pulling it up John's back. "You're soft. Angora? No, that's not fur, that's wool."

"Hey!" John yelped as Sherlock's hands made contact with the flesh at the small of his back. "Jesus, Sherlock."

"Is wool fur?" Sherlock was mumbling, barely coherent. John was struck by an idea, one hand flying to touch Sherlock's face. _Cold, far too cold._ The undressing was a classic sign; John was almost embarrassed that it took this long for him to realize it.

"Sherlock, you've got hypothermia." He began rubbing Sherlock's back in quick movements, generating heat through friction. "Where's your coat?"

"You're got a furnace in here, I don't need a coat." Sherlock's hands were both under John's jumper now, sliding up his back, and John tensed from the sudden chill.

"Your coat, Sherlock." When Sherlock didn't say anything useful, John sighed. "It's got to be around here somewhere."

John went to take a step back but Sherlock clung to him, stumbling unsteadily into John's shoulder. "John! No, don't go." Sherlock's too-cold forehead pressed against John's cheek. His hair dripped streaks of chilly water down John's face and neck. "I won't let them take you."

John huffed, a quick frustrated exhalation. One arm snaked around Sherlock, holding him steady. "Alright."

"I won't!"

"Alright, Sherlock! Christ." John slipped the hand that wasn't keeping Sherlock vertical into his pocket and dialed 999. He let the phone go in his pocket. _I have my GPS locator on, they'll come soon enough_.

Sherlock was beginning to shiver, which John took as a good sign. Better than paradoxical undressing, at any rate. "You're burning up," Sherlock said.

"No, you're freezing," John said. "Come here." Sherlock mercifully obeyed, hunching over and burrowing into him. John swayed with the additional weight, then steadied. "Need to get you warmed up a bit." John pulled his jacket around Sherlock's back as much as he could, sharing his warmth. "This would work a lot better with your coat, you know," he said.

"You're so hot, John. You're on fire. We're going to burn."

"Hush yourself," John said.

Sherlock obeyed again, and now John was convinced something was very wrong. A compliant Sherlock? He might have been drugged in addition to the hypothermia. John wanted to fish his phone out of his pocket and call Lestrade, but he didn't want to risk setting off the madman who was currently nuzzling into the crook of his neck, slouched into his body. _Come on, bobbies. Hurry it up._ Though this might not be the best of positions for the police to find them in. John sighed. He'd deal with that when they came to it.

"Together then," Sherlock muttered into John's shoulder.

"Mm?" John said automatically, realizing as he said it that it would only encourage Sherlock. Too late.

"We'll burn down together, at least we'll be together."

"Sherlock..."

"No," Sherlock said forcefully, his fingertips digging into the flesh of John's back. "You're not going without me. Not without you, I couldn't. I can't, I won't!" Sherlock shouted right into John's face. His grip on John was desperate, almost painful. His voice breaking, Sherlock managed, "It's both of us, or not at all."

"Okay," John said quietly. He wondered if it was drugs talking, or the cold, or if Sherlock really felt that strongly about losing him. John recalled his own mounting anxiety as he'd combed the shoreline, and realized that he felt the same, or close enough that it didn't matter. That's why he was out here in the first place, John supposed. He rubbed Sherlock's back, more for comfort than for heat. "I'm holding you to that, you bloody idiot."

Sherlock relaxed into him, all tension suddenly leaving him. Their bodies swayed, adjusting. "Together," Sherlock repeated. John's heart shattered inside his chest, a flush of emotion filling him with sudden warmth.

He pressed his face into Sherlock's hair - damn the cold and damn the police, it didn't matter - and held him quietly, waiting for help to arrive.


End file.
